“Get over in front, Bill; quick, and don’t make a noise.�
There was mischief in the air as Bill at once knew. He climbed over the seat and waited.
“Hold fast, Harry,� said Tom. “These horses are going to run away.�
“Oh, let me out,� cried Harry.
“No, hold on, and keep quiet.�
“What fun!� cried Bill. “We are to have a ride all to ourselves.�
“Do you whack the horses, Bill. They’ll go. Wait a moment.� He gave one last look around him and ahead.
Beyond the picket the road ran straight for a mile. He had his moment of final hesitation, but it was soon over. No one was in sight near by, and his eyes roamed over the trackless vacancy of snow-clad spaces into which the highway disappeared.
“Are you ready, Bill?� he said, handing him the whip.
“All right,� said Bill, seeing desirable mischief ahead and enjoying the prospect.